just a name
by Ayla Pascal
Summary: Narcissa thinks about what it means to be a Black, a Malfoy and a woman in the wizarding world.


Written for violetquill's Voices and Vaginas of HP Women fic challenge. 

**just a name**

With trembling fingers, I sign the register. The ink flows swiftly from the quill, thick like blood. 

_Narcissa Malfoy_

The guard points his wand at me as I stumble into the tiny waiting cell. It makes me wonder what he thinks I'm going to do. Surely he doesn't believe that I would attack him like a dirty _Muggle_. As if he can read my mind, he leers at me. "Never trust a Malfoy," he says and I can barely understand through his thick Scottish brogue.

But I'm not a Malfoy, I think as the door shuts with a click.

At least, I wasn't _always_ a Malfoy. The blood that runs in my veins is the blood of generations of Blacks. Even now, after twenty years of marriage, Narcissa Malfoy sounds strange to my ears. My name is Narcissa Black. That's the name I answered to as I stumbled up to the Sorting Hat in my first year. That's the name I was born with.

My lips twist into what I know is a bitter smile and I realise that I have forgotten what it is like to be a Black.

I'm damned for who I married. I'm damned for my surname. I'm damned for everything that isn't mine.

It makes me wonder what my grandmother would have thought of me now. I still remember kneeling by her knee with my sisters and listening to her advice. I suspect both Bella and my other sister feigned expressions of interest. Bella at least laughed later when she mimicked grandmother's soft, light voice. "_Neutrality is the most important asset in a well-bred witch,_" she used to say and then fall back onto my bed with barely suppressed laughter. "How ridiculous."

We had many of those scenes - I hesitate to call them cosy - where it was only my sisters and my grandmother. How I loved those nights, sitting beside the fire, watching the flames flicker and spit up the chimney. Just us. The Black women. I thought I would always be one.

Obviously I was wrong. The curl of the _M_ was never part of my name.

When did this happen? When did I become anything less than neutral? The Blacks were never part of the War. Until our generation anyway. Where did everything go wrong? Regulus was always a fool. An intellectual who could never see the ramifications of his actions in the real world. Sirius was far too passionate and headstrong to be a Black. He never should have had our name. Neither should my other sister. Even now, I cannot say her name. It was taboo for that long in our family. 

But, Bella. My sister, Bella. Why did _you_ join Him? What did he promise you?

I don't suppose it matters now anyway. Bella is gone. Lucius is gone too. And it is likely that I'll too be gone before long. My son is the only one left with Black blood in him and he's a Malfoy.

I wonder what it would have been like if I had stayed a Black. Perhaps then I would have been strong enough to stay out of this mess. All this business of fighting Muggles, killing Mudbloods. It's ridiculous. Do we fight and kill the wild animals in the Forbidden Forest?

But I know that mine is an idle wish. I couldn't have stayed a Black. I'm a woman. Our job is to stand by our husbands, smile and support them. I did that for Lucius and I'm proud of it.

Still.

I can't help but wonder what could have been.

If my son had been born a Black, he wouldn't have had the same obligations. He wouldn't need to fight in this war. I'm not blinded like he is. We cannot win this war. Not with so much against us. He wouldn't need to die for our cause and although he is still alive, I mourn him for I know how this will end. The baby that I held in my arms staring at the miracle of life, the child who flew around our grounds on his toy broomstick, the adolescent who burned from the constrictions of our society, my Draco will be killed.

Or captured, which is infinitely worse.

If only...

I know my ruminations are useless. But I can't help it. Sitting here in the white, white, _white_ cell causes one to examine oneself. And the stains on my soul are almost too much for me to bear.

My name is Narcissa.

But.

Black or Malfoy?

There is a brief knock on the door before it swings open. "Narcissa Malfoy, please come with me." It is another guard - by the way he walks, an Auror - and his wand is pointed at me.

I stand up, smooth out my robes and walk out of the room. He has decided for me. The world sees me as Narcissa Malfoy, trophy wife of a convicted and Kissed Death Eater.

So I must be her.


End file.
